Table Of ContentegaugnaL ’stsihcranA eht dna hsilgnE Kristian Williams
colB ’sretirW .cnIhtemirC Anarchism and the English Language
K
G
.1
roN .elbaecivres ylerem eht morf trapa gnitirw doog stes taht ymehcla eht tuoba
gnihton syas ti tub ,gnitirw dab evorpmi thgim ,ti stneserp naitsirK sa ,ecivda
s’llewrO .leber straeh ruo ,margorp a sa tuo delleps siht gniees teY
Kristian Williams
!enitolliug eht ot elobrepyh dnA !noitisop dna ,laitnetop ,tcejorp ot
sexiffus xiffa ohw lla ot htaeD !gnirutsop cimedaca-oduesp htiw nwoD .stnem
Anarchism and the
-ugra ruoy no tca ot elpoep egaruocne llits uoy fi ,oot ,suoregnad dna—hsireb
English Language
-big fo neercsekoms a dniheb gninosaer dohspils laecnoc ot yldrawoc si tI .sre
-tirw tsihcrana rehto ot yas ot ekil dluow ew tahw fo hcum syas yasse s’naitsir
nosretniW ettenaeJ–
”.egnahc stceffe
tahw swonk yllaer eno oN .suoiretsym ylluf si tI .detnemucod eb tonnac taht
ssecorp a si ,dlog tseb otni rettam etsaw morf ,rehtona ot tnemele
eno morf noitamrofsnart eht ,si tahT .nevig ton si driht eht
:’atad non muitreT‘ :gniyas a evah stsimehcla ehT“
eorge Orwell, in his classic essay, “Politics and the English Language,” makes
the case that “the English language… becomes ugly and inaccurate because our
egaugnaL thoughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us
to have foolish thoughts.”
’stsihcranA eht dna hsilgnE
The vices Orwell catalogued—vague phrases, dying metaphors, jar-
colB ’sretirW .cnIhtemirC
gon, and general pseudoscientific pretentiousness—all help to sustain our bor-
ing prose. But worse, they also produce a stagnant and stifling mental atmo-
sphere in which thought is commonly replaced with the automatic recitation
of certain prescribed words or phrases “tacked together,” as Orwell memorably
put it, “like the sections of a prefabricated hen-house.”
1.
Kristian Williams .2
The effect on readers is certainly bad enough, but the implications for
fo esruoc eht ni ecafrus eht ot egaugnal eht nihtiw ecnatsiser fo stnerruc naen
writers are more serious still. Sometimes, of course, vague and shoddy prose—
-arretbus eht gnirb ot sah tsihcrana na ,segnellahc hcus fo ecaf eht nI
and the readiness with which such is accepted—makes it possible for a writer
.nwo ruo naht rehtar stniop rieht gnikam pu dne semitemos ew ,elbis
to deliberately pass off one thing as another, or to hide bad reasoning in a rhe-
-secca erom eb ot yrt ew nehW .rovaf rieht ni detnals si dleif gniyalp eht esuaceb
torical fog. More often, however, a well-meaning writer just accepts the standard
sruo naht elbissecca erom sraeppa netfo stidnup dna snaicitilop fo egaugnal eht
currently in use and out of witless habit uses language that alters, obscures, or
,yrartnoc eht nO .yltcerroc desu erew yeht fi hturt eht llet dluow sdrow eht fi sa
nullifies his own meaning. In such cases, the writer, too, is the victim: he means
,esusim fo noitseuq a tsuj ton si sihT .stidnup dna snaicitilop fo esoht tneser
to say one thing, and says another; or, he means to say something, but says
-per yeht yaw emas eht saedi reh tneserper ot sdrow tsurt tonnac tsihcrana na
nothing instead.
,meht ni segagne ohw no gnidneped ”tneloiv“ sa denifed era seitivitca gniref
This dynamic poses special problems for anarchism, as a mode of
-fid yllacitsard dna ”ytirohtua“ morf elbarapesni si ”etamitigel“ nehW
thought that shuns orthodoxy on principle and should be above defrauding an
.redro
audience in the fashion typical of politicians and their parties. Anarchists face
laicos tnanimod eht fo seulav eht esopmi ot sdnet ti tub ,yteicos ruo fo tcepsa
the further problem that, through clumsiness and inattention, our ideas be-
yreve nihtiw era ereht sa ,hsilgnE nihtiw ecnatsiser fo stnerruc degrembus era
come unintelligible. This destruction of meaning occurs at many levels simulta-
erehT .ti edistuo secneirepxe ro saedi sserpxe ot naht weivdlrow tsilatipac eht
neously: It is impossible to convince people of an idea if one cannot explain it; it
yevnoc ot hsilgnE yraropmetnoc esu ot reisae yllareneg si tI .ti decudorp taht yte
is equally impossible to explain an idea if you do not understand it yourself; and
-icos eht fo snoitaler rewop eht setanracni ti ;lartuen ton si egaugnal ,ygolonhcet
it is impossible to adequately understand an idea if its only means of expres-
yna ekil tuB .ylreporp ti esu ew fi saedi ruo tneserper yletauqeda nac egaugnal
sion frustrate any efforts to define or analyze it. Through this process ideas are
ruo taht detnarg rof sekat naitsirK ,tnemugra sih fo sesoprup eht roF
transformed into something like the Latin mass: we in the congregation may
.egnahc
not understand the priest’s ritual mumblings, but we believe that the words will
stceffe taht rotcaf eht ,driht suoiretsym eht—elop driht a ezisehtopyh eW .nois
save us.
-sucsid eht ot noisnemid rehtona dda su tel ,stnemugra lanoitar fo noissimsnart
raelc eht dna nograj ralusni ,tnerehocni neewteb eciohc eht nevig oS
Consider, for example, a sentence like “To be allies, cisgendered people need to
.noitcerid thgir eht ni ffo ekirts ohw esoht
check their privilege.”
tsniaga desu eb snoitpircserp sih tsel ,siht sserdda ot tnatropmi s’tI .noissimo
lataf a ro noitpmussa gib a gnikam rehtie si naitsirK ?airetirc rehto ot gnidrocca
Such a sentence is, by contemporary anarchist standards, utterly un-
detaulave eb tsum hcihw ,yleritne tcejorp rehtona gnitirw tsihcrana si rO ?tnega
remarkable and may even be regarded as a truism. And it contains several fea-
gnisitrevda na ro tarcomed laicos a sa llew setirw eno yaw emas eht tsihcrana na
tures that make it representative of the type of writing I am discussing. The first
sa llew etirw eno seoD .tsihcrana gnitirw ekam dluoc tahw htiw egagne ti seod
2. colB ’sretirW .cnIhtemirC
.3 Anarchism and the English Language
thing one ought to notice is the unattractive and the peculiarly un-persuasive
-sruocsid dna ,selyts ,sdrow wen tnevni ot evah eW ?ti niatniam taht smret emas
quality of the language. Simply reading the words, it is very difficult to accept
eht ni ytivitamron redneg egnellahc ylbissop ew dluoc woH .ti egnellahc ton
that only a single century separates this writing from the prose of Edward Car-
,ytilaer susnesnoc ecudorper ot elba eb ylno lliw ew ,yteicos siht ni desu ylediw
penter or Peter Kropotkin.
si taht egaugnal fo sdnuob eht nihtiw yats ew fi tuB .enoyreve ot railimaf ton
Even apart from its plain ugliness, the writing is indecipherable to
era ”derednegsic“ ekil smsigoloen ,tuo stniop naitsirK sa ,ylniatreC
the uninitiated. It is dense with vague jargon terms, and offers not a single
.gnittup-ffo naht rehtar elbitsiserri noisufnoc
original turn of phrase, nor an image of any kind. Of its brief ten words, one—
gniusne eht sredner taht yaw a ni railimafnu egaugnal ekam ot si stsihcrana
cisgendered—only exists in certain marginal academic departments and in a very
sa ksat ruo ,os si taht fI .elbigilletni tsom si ti nehw suoregnad tsom eb yam ti
narrow sliver of the political spectrum. Three others—allies, check, and privi-
,lartuen ton si egaugnal ruo fI .retsinis erom gnihtemos ot ytilibigilletni gni
lege—are everyday English words that here take on specialized meanings. And
-dnamed morf ssap dluoc eno yltfiws woh ees ew sesac htob ni tub ,noitcartsba
one of these is so ambiguous as to render the sentence practically meaningless:
dna nograj ecnuoned ot ylno tnaem llewrO ”.egaugnal hsilgnE eht fo esnefed
Does check mean to examine, or to verify? Does it mean to physically block (as
eht“ fo ekas eht rof ”sesarhp ngierof tuo evird ot“ nemyrtnuoc sih no dellac
in hockey), or threaten (as in chess), or to decline a bet (as in poker)? Does one
llewrO ,setic naitsirK yasse eht ni ,ylralimiS .snezitic keerG ot roirefni sa meht
check one’s privilege the way one checks one’s coat at the theater, to be retrieved
dekram )”rab rab rab“( hceeps elbisneherpmocni esohw srengierof eht fo yre
again after the show? Like a lot of moralistic language, this phrase manages to
-kcom a saw ti—ςοραβράβ ,aieopotamono keerG tneicna eht morf su ot semoc
be prescriptive without actually being instructive: it offers us a command, but it
,suorabrab ,drow dedaol siht teY .hguone drawrofthgiarts sdnuos sihT .ylsuorab
lacks the necessary specificity to actually tell anyone what they should do in any
-rab etirw ot ton su segru naitsirK .siht fo elpmaxe na mrofrep s’teL
real-world circumstance.
.erutraped fo
I’m not complaining here that the language is difficult—on the whole
stniop wen gninepo dna yrotirret ymene si ti woh gniwohs—flesti egaugnal eht
it is not—but that it is unsalvageably vague. It is, or should be, a problem if your
gnizilibatsed no tub ,egaugnal aiv saedi ruo gnitangised ylreporp no ylno sucof
idiom makes it impossible for other people to grasp your ideas; but how much
t’ndluohs ew ,kaeps ew nehW .sgninaem dlo rieht fo esool meht sekahs taht
worse is it if your language helps you to hide your meaning even from yourself?
rennam a ni sdrow gnisu yb dne tsum ew ”,tuoba yaw rehto eht ton dna ,drow
To a very large degree, the language here is standing in for thought. People who
eht esoohc gninaem eht teL“ ot dnamed s’llewrO htiw nigeb ew fi oS
write this sort of thing may have some general idea of what they are trying to
.denimreted si rewop fo ecnalab
say—but they needn’t have. They’ve absorbed the correct words, the way a child
eht hcihw no sdleifelttab tnatropmi tsom eht fo eno tub ,deppiuq ecno edarmoc
memorizes the Pledge of Allegiance, without much concern as to whether the
a sa ”,tniop eht gnidave fo ecneics eht“ tsuj ton si scitnameS .ytniatrecnu dna
words correspond to anything in particular, either in the real world or even in
yalp eerf fo secaps pu nepo tub ,smron wen hsilbatse ton tsum ehs ,tsihcrana
one’s imagination.
na sa ,revoeroM .lla ta ti ekam ot elba eb ton yam ehs esle ro ,esac reh gnikam
egaugnaL ’stsihcranA eht dna hsilgnE 3.
Anarchism and the English Language .4
My above example is drawn from queer politics, but one could easily
owT“ .ytilanab lacitsym rieht fo esuaceb ylesicerp noitcnuf ,aisenodnI sa raf sa
multiply the cases if one so chose. (For instance: “The black bloc became a mere
ecnegruser sti enrob evah hcihw ,msihcrana ot dehtaeuqeb kcor knup snagols
facet of the totalizing spectacle.”) All branches of anarchism—primitivists, syn-
ehT ”.deneppah evah t’ndluow ti dna erom llec niarb eno ;dekrow evah t’ndluow
dicalists, insurrectionists, CrimethInc.—are similarly guilty, though the required
ti dna ssel llec niarb enO“ ,CD/CA fo etorw reweiver eno sA .stnavas stoidi era
code words and the preferred rhythm of the language may vary somewhat from
sretirw taerg ylurt emos tub ,tnegilletni yllareneg era sretirw dooG
one clique to the next. One need only pick up any issue of any anarchist pub-
.ti thgif ton ,siht fo tsom eht ekam dluohs stsihcra
lication—no matter what faction it represents—to find at least one example of
-nA .stnadep rehto dna srotide fo riapsed eht ot ,esorp tnedurp erom enihstuo
similar writing.
syawla lliw htuoy fo sessecxe lufreehc ehT .snoitalumrof lacidohtem s’rebearG
Many of the words that occur most commonly in anarchist writing are
divaD nettogrof evah ew retfa gnol ”dlohelgnarts eht gnitartsenefed“ eb yam ew
used, I suspect, with no precise meaning in mind—or at times, with a meaning
;soolredleG reteP fo srohpatem dexim eht rof seog emas ehT .eitnu ot gniyrt
quite different from the typical usage. “Accountability,” “community,” “solidar-
pots t’nac ew tonk a ,amgine na si ti ;sdnim ruo ni skcits tI .eslaf yltnetap si ti
ity,” and “freedom” are used, in the overwhelming number of cases, simply as
,ti fo ecaf eht no ,esuaceb ylesicerp—”esuoh s’retsam eht eltnamsid reven lliw
markers to signify things we like or favor. When we read, for instance, that “orga-
sloot s’retsam ehT“—etouq edroL erduA suomaf eht rebmemer eW .gnitirw
nizers should be accountable to the community,” we are each left to wonder who
doog naht retteb si taht gnitirw dab fo melborp eht si ereht neht dnA
this relationship is supposed to involve, and are much less certain about what it
.aedi siht yevnoc ot egaugnal wen dedeen eh yllacixodarap tub
is supposed to look like. Likewise, when we read that some group wants to “hold
,thguoht timil ot desu eb nac egaugnal woh yartrop ot kaepsweN detnevni eH
sex offenders accountable,” it is a fair and obvious question what they propose to
.su dehcaer evah reven dluow msilaer sih ,noitanigami sih fo ytilativ eht rof ton
actually do. Do they want them to make a public statement of apology? Do they
fI ?emircthguoht sih ro ,scitilop siH ?smsigoloen sih ro ,cigol siH ?slevon sih ro
plan to beat them up? Or do they mean, by circular logic, that they will hold them
,syasse sih—yadot rof derebmemer flesmih llewrO si tahW .gnitalutsop era ew
accountable by calling for them to be held accountable? It is striking how seldom
elyts cihcrana fo dnik eht ta stnih krow esohw srohtua owt—rekcA yhtaK a ro
such questions are ever answered—but it is more striking still how seldom they
llorraC siweL a ecudorp reven dluow enola ycarucca no sucof tcirts A
are actually asked. In both cases, the key word—accountability—has been invoked,
.sretemarap s’naitsirK edistuo
and that is thought somehow to be sufficient.
llaf taht gnitirw lufrewop fo selpmaxe eht fo emos snialpxe sihT .eutriv elpic
Too often, the point of writing this way is not so much to communicate
-nirp ruo eb ot sesaec ycarucca erem ,suht gnitirw hcaorppa ew nehW
a specific idea to some real or potential readership. The words serve instead to
.nevig ton si taht driht eht
indicate a kind of group loyalty, an ideological border between our side and the
:esorp naht rehtar yrteop rof sllac tI .msiadaD elttil a noitnem ot ton—gninaem
other side: we believe this, and they don’t. Or rather: we talk in this way and say
fo noissimsnart eht fo gnidnatsrednu citats naht rehtar cimanyd a rof sllac sihT
this sort of thing; they talk in some other way, and say some other sort of thing.
.noitasrevnoc eht otni srehto gnicudes elihw sgniht wen yas ot su elbane taht se
4. egaugnaL ’stsihcranA eht dna hsilgnE
.5 Kristian Williams
Adopting the proper style allows one to demonstrate how radical one
eht rof erised eht yb tcejorp tsihcrana eht ot nward era elpoep tsoM .shtgnerts
is. And it is a symptom of one’s writing being shaped by concerns, often sup-
ruo no etartnecnoc dluohs stsihcrana tuB .seof ruo naht cifitneics dna suoir
pressed concerns, about orthodoxy. It becomes important, not only to think the
-es erom neve eb dluohs ew taht dleh syawla sah tnemevom tsihcrana eht ni
right thoughts, but also—sometimes even more so—to use the right words, as
-htiw ytironim evitavresnoc A ?niwdoG mailliW srebmemer ohw tuB
though one needs to punch in the correct code, but doesn’t need to remember
?noitazilivic nretseW no tluassa na fo ecnamor naisynoiD eht
why that particular series of letters was selected in the first place.
ro ,tnemnethgilnE eht fo noitanimluc eht sa msihcrana semarf taht noitatnem
Underneath this practice of mental mimicry is the sense that words are
-ugra nainollopA ?yeB mikaH gnitacixotni eht ro ,nihckooB yarruM rebos ehT
imbued with a kind of mystical essence—some being good, others bad—irrespec-
?yellehS ycreP fo yrteop tnecsednacni eht ro ,niwdoG mailliW fo esorp dicul
tive of context or the use to which they are being put. The policing of language
eht htiw edis ew oD .etabed dlo-seirutnec a ot denruter evah ew ereH
is one result, usually in the form of self-censorship but sometimes under public
?ueilim tsihcrana eht
pressure. (I was recently chastised, for example, for using the word riot; the more
edistuo daer ylediw tsom era stsihcrana hcihW .seog gniyas eht sa ,gnitae eht ni
vague uprising or rebellion being preferable.) Once euphemism begins to creep in,
si gniddup eht fo foorp eht ,noitacinummoc ot semoc ti nehW .pihsnoitaler yrat
it is a short distance to travel between political politeness and pure dishonesty. At
-nulov fo dnik rehto yna rof era yeht naht lufesu erom on era skoobelur hcihw
the same time, and following from the same impulse, much of our rhetoric takes
rof ,gnikatrednu lautum a si tI .skrow noitacinummoc woh ton s’tahT .srehto
on a ridiculously inflated quality. Protests become uprisings, on the one hand,
htiw llew etacinummoc ylerar—kool yeht erehwyreve yllautriv noisicerpmi
while a drunken fight is described as “acting out” (unless, for other reasons, we
ees tey—ylesicerp kaeps yeht taht decnivnoc era ohw esoht ,sediseB
label it “abuse”). In either case, the tendency is to write according to what should
.esle gnihton dna—enoyreve ot noitamrofni
have happened under the terms of one’s own favorite theory, rather than strug-
emas eht yevnoc taht snoisserpxe naht erom htrow era stset hcahcsroR emoS
gling to discover and describe events as they actually occurred.
.retteb eht ,sesnopser rieht gnigrevid ylediw erom eht ;ecnetnes a morf esnes
The tendency toward rhetorical inflation is driven, I believe, by a desire
emas eht sevired redaer yreve rehtehw tniop eht ediseb si ti ,sekats s’royevrus
to make ourselves seem bigger, better, or more important than we are—even if
pu llup ot tub gnicnef pu tup ot ton si ksat s’rohtua tsihcrana eht fI .ytilibissop
the only people we fool are ourselves. “Actions” sound tougher than “protests”
sseltimil fo esnes a syevnoc ti ,rehto yna naht ylevitceffe erom ,esuaceb egap
or “rallies,” even if all we do at these “actions” is walk about with signs. And it is
tseb eht si ti swonk etehtsea eurt eht tub ;ypoc yreve fo tuo deppir eno eht si evoL
rather embarrassing in a political context to say “me and my friends,” so instead
fo sthgiN ,raW fo syaD fo egap tseb eht taht egrahc thgim yranoitcaer sselrom
we say “community” when we really mean “scene,” and “scene” when we really
-uh A .noisserpxe lanoitatneserper-non fo melborp eht si ereht nehT
mean “clique.” But, isn’t there the nagging suspicion that something has gone
”.noinuer a gni
awry when we begin using the word “community” in a way that excludes our
-tarbelec ,sevlesmeht gnoma gniklat era séhcilc eht taht ylmid esnes ew esuaceb
neighbors, the mail carrier, and members of our immediate family?
,su evom séhcilc derdnuh a tub“ ,nailatI niatrec a etorw ”,hgual su ekam séhcilc
colB ’sretirW cnIhtemirC 5.
Kristian Williams .6
Once this pattern sets in, all sense of proportion washes out of our
language. Descriptions of events shrink or swell, not according to any observ-
able feature of anything that has happened, but according to an a priori for-
mula. One need only glance at the statements issued by competing sides in
some recent anarchist controversy—the latest instantiation of the perennial
debates over violence and nonviolence, or militant action versus base-building,
will do—to recognize that, the two sides do not just disagree about this or that
specific incident, but where questions of fact arise, each side takes an attitude
of almost perfect indifference.
moc.cnihtemirc
The linguistic drift is dangerous because it makes honest discussion
impossible. And, maybe more worrisome, people are surprisingly willing to
.lla ta tsixe t’nseod ylbaborp taht
fall for their own propagandistic tricks. A political movement cannot expect to
noisrevbus fo ecitcarp a ,noitanicullah evitcelloc a ,mortsleam a si .cnIhtemirC
succeed, or even survive, if it cannot face reality. But moreover, if its members
in very large numbers do lose touch with the world beyond their own press re- !YLSUORABRAB ETIRW
leases and manifestos, the movement probably will not even deserve to survive.
Anarchists, of course, are not the only people to write as though the
words don’t matter. Much current writing is straightforward nonsense—not
!sedacirrabrab eht ot snairabraB !ylreporp gnitirw tuoba tegroF
only political writing, but also advertising copy, academic prose, legal decisions,
.thguoht dna egaugnal no cigol yratinu a gnisopmi fo tcejorp
religious sermons, and love songs. But aside from the slipshod quality of con-
lairepmi eht ,lebaB fo rewoT eht elppoT .tnim nwo ruoy fo eganioc a htiw meht
temporary English, and beyond even the special vices of political propaganda,
ecalper dna séhcilc exA .ti kcas :od sladnaV eht sa od ,emoR ni nehW
anarchism has acquired several faults that are, more or less, distinctive.
!ni snioj esle enoyreve taht yaw a hcus ni noitnevnoc dna
For instance, we seem to have acquired the dubious habit of adopting
esnes nommoc htiw kaerB !saes detrahcnu otni esorp ruoy dneS !suivuseV fo
an everyday word, narrowing its meaning, and turning it into a kind of jargon.
sepols eht no stnemugra ruoy dliuB !ylsuorabrab etirW :edulcnoc ot dellepmoc
The above-mentioned “allies,” “privilege,” “accountability,” and “actions” are
era ew ,tnemgduj retteb nwo ruo dna llewrO fo ecnaifed ni ,eroferehT
all examples—as are “process” (as a verb), “facilitate,” “recuperate,” “lifestyle”
.ycarucca fo eerged yna dluoc rehtien tub ,ecnesba sti rof pu ekam nac noit
(as an adjective), “bottom-line” (verb), “spectacle,” “safe space,” “spoke” (noun),
-acsufbo fo tnuoma oN .lla ta gnitirw htrow ti sekam taht—selur eht gnitaloiv
“care” (noun), and “harm.”
htrow ti sekam taht—gnitirw suolupurcs morf tra taerg sehsiugnitsid taht enots
s’rehposolihp emas eht si sihT .elbaffeni gnihtemos rof ,suoiretsym dna dliw
6. egaugnaL ’stsihcranA eht dna hsilgnE
Anarchism and the English Language Anarchism and the English Language
I don’t mean to suggest that the only thing standing in the way of rev- Similarly, we sometimes take words that are necessarily relative and
olution is bad prose. But it is possible that a great deal of the nonsense could be use them as though they were absolute. “Accessible” (or “inaccessible”) and
shaken out of anarchism if we commit ourselves to the clear expression of our “alternative” are the chief examples. Nothing just is accessible. It must be ac-
ideas, and if we demand the same from the publications that we read. It is very cessible to someone. Likewise, something can only be an alternative to something
difficult to write clearly unless one is also thinking clearly. And if a sentence else. Saying that it’s an alternative to “the mainstream” is just question-begging.
cannot be translated from anarcho-english into plain English, there is a very More embarrassing still, many of our jargon terms are not even our
good chance that it is meaningless. own, but have been appropriated, or misappropriated, from other traditions—
Marxist, Foucauldian, post-modern, feminist, or Queer Theory. There’s nothing
wrong with that on its own, and I personally admire a willingness to take good
ideas regardless of the source. But we’ve started writing like undergraduates
imitating their professors. We say “hegemony” when we really just mean “influ-
ence,” and “contradiction” when we’re talking about conflict, “performativity”
Kristian Williams is the author of Our Enemies in Blue: Police and Power in Amer-
instead of “behavior,” and so on. The results of this imitative habit are some-
ica, American Methods: Torture and the Logic of Domination, and Hurt: Notes on
times pretty odd: because of Foucault, it is now common in political writing to
Torture in a Modern Democracy. He is presently at work on a book about Oscar
refer to people as bodies. Thanks to Hardt and Negri, we talk about Empire rath-
Wilde and anarchism.
er than imperialism. And, in a related development, we commonly talk about
kristianwilliams.com Capital rather than capitalism, and do so in a way that makes it sound like an
ill-tempered deity rather than an economic system.
Too often, too, we present simple ideas with complex language be-
cause we think it makes us look smarter, edgier, or more radical. We pepper
our language with technical terms just to show that we’ve done our homework.
There seems to be an agreement on the left that it is better to write in the style
of badly-translated Hegel than to write like John Steinbeck. It is even easier,
provided you don’t care to be understood.
The problem of course is not with the words themselves. The prob-
lem isn’t even with abstraction. Any effort to apply the lessons from one case
to another necessarily involves some form of abstraction. The problem is the
10. 7.
Anarchism and the English Language Kristian Williams
avoidance of clarity in meaning. The solution, then, is not to simply to abstain
might use the passive; Always use a foreign phrase or jargon word if the every-
from using certain words, or to substitute new jargon for old, but to do what we
day English word can be avoided; And write barbarously rather than violate any
can to make our writing as clear as possible. We do that through the use of fresh
of these rules.
imagery, of concrete detail, and by taking care to spell out precisely who and
No one has formalized such commandments, and no one has had to.
what we mean whenever we’re tempted to invoke old spooks like “the people”
The slow drift of the language, and the overall cloudiness of our thought, allows
or mystical processes like “struggle.”
us to adopt such practices without trying, and often, without consciously recog-
The point here is not simply to describe the present state of anarchist
nizing it. To break such habits, however, requires a conscious effort.
writing, but to reverse the trends that have brought us here. And while many of
Orwell’s advice, put as succinctly as possible, might be summarized: Think be-
the examples in “Politics and the English Language” are now very much out of
fore you write.
date, Orwell’s advice remains sound. He offers one general principle, six rules,
and six questions.
A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask him-
The principle is: “Let the meaning choose the word, and not the other
self at least four questions, thus: What am I trying to say? What
way about.”
word will express it? What image or idiom will make is clearer? Is
this image fresh enough to have an effect? And he will probably ask
himself two more: Could I put it more shortly? Have I said anything
The rules are:
that is avoidably ugly?
(1) Never use a metaphor, simile or other figure of speech which you
are used to seeing in print. (2) Never use a long word where a short
This approach assumes, of course, that the writer has some definite idea that he
one will do. (3) If it is possible to cut out a word, always cut it out. (4)
means to convey to the reader, that it is not his purpose to simply cycle through
Never use the passive where you can use the active. (5) Never use a
the fashionable platitudes in order to represent the right “line” or to rehearse
foreign phrase, a scientific word or a jargon word if you can think of
stock phrases for some imaginary debate.
an everyday English equivalent. (6) Break any of these rules sooner
The purpose of anarchist writing, I believe, is—or should be—not to
than say anything outright barbarous.
demonstrate how radical we are, or to dazzle our friends with our erudition, but
to improve the quality of anarchist thought, to give our ideas a broader circu-
It is worth noting that, were there a contemporary anarchist style guide, nearly lation, and to use those ideas to help reshape the world. But the present state
all of these rules would be reversed: Only use figures of speech that you are of our writing, taken as a whole, seems ill-suited to every one of these aims. It
used to seeing in print; Never use a short word if a long word is available; If it produces, instead, hazy thinking, political and intellectual insularity, and, ulti-
is possible to add a word, always add it in; Never use the active voice where you mately, irrelevance.
8. 9.
